


built you a house from a broken home

by coffeeandcheesecake



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Drinking, M/M, Meddling Friends, Post-breakup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 07:41:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3201014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandcheesecake/pseuds/coffeeandcheesecake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Bro,” Niall says carefully after a while. “Can I ask you a question?”</p>
<p>Zayn hesitates, then nods. He doubts he’s going to love what Niall has to say, but he’s not in the business of denying him anything, which is clear from the fact that Niall is in his house in the first place, dripping ice cream onto the couch.</p>
<p>“Were you ever like… glad?” Niall says, so quietly it’s almost a whisper. “I mean, that they…”</p>
<p>Zayn’s heart is in his throat, and he feels simultaneously deeply guilty and also massively grateful, because he’d been so worried that he was the only one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	built you a house from a broken home

**ZAYN**

Niall has called eleven times and left six voicemails, all of which carry a general birthday theme but mostly consist of Niall waffling cheerfully on about his day, before Zayn finally rolls his eyes, pauses the television, and accepts the call.

“Honestly, Niall?”

“Hey! Twelfth time’s the charm! Hello there, birthday boy. Fancy a pub night?”

Zayn rolls his eyes again, even though Niall can’t see him. “No.”

“Why not, mate? Pints!”

Zayn can sense this is going to be a longer conversation than he anticipated, so he hauls himself off the couch and heads into the kitchen for a snack. Pausing in front of the mirror, he runs his fingers through his hair and winces. He could really use a haircut.

“I’m very busy and important.”

Niall cackles so loudly Zayn has to hold the phone away from his ear.

“You realize who you’re talking to, right?” Niall says as Zayn slips into the kitchen. “I know for a fact that right at this very second, you’re in your pajamas, standing in front of your fridge with your arm fully in your freezer to reach the ice cream you stashed back there.”

Zayn scowls and withdraws his arm from the cold, clutching a half-eaten pint of Cherry Garcia.

“Listen, you know how I feel about ice cream. Let me stop off at the store and we can do those kinds of pints instead. I can be there in twenty.”

“Niall,” Zayn interrupts, grabbing a spoon from the drawer. “You realize that you’ve just invited yourself over to my house.”

“Only because I knew you wouldn’t ask,” Niall says. “And I know you’re very tortured and deep, but I refuse to let you be alone on your birthday.”

Zayn doesn’t really have an answer for that, so he just snaps, “Let yourself in, you Irish disaster. I’m not getting back up off the couch for you.”

Niall shows up exactly twenty minutes later and crashes next to Zayn on the couch, practically on his lap even though the couch is massive. Zayn just lets him throw his skinny legs over his lap, risking a knee to the chin before Niall gets settled and uncaps his pint of Half-Baked 

“What are we watching?” he says casually before wrinkling his nose at Zayn’s choice of Celebrity Big Brother reruns. “I thought you hated this shite.”

"I do,” Zayn sighs. “But I’m chilling with Louis next week and I know he’s not going to shut up about it, and if I have to listen to him cry about reality telly I like to at least know what he’s talking about.”

Niall perks up at that. “You’re seeing Louis? Haven’t seen him in ages. When are you going?”

“Thursday, I think,” Zayn says. It’s in his phone calendar, he’s pretty sure. “Thursday or Friday.”

Niall pouts at him. “I’m going to LA on Wednesday to see Haz.”

Zayn doesn’t even try to hide his surprise. “You’re going to LA? You hate LA.”

“Well, he refuses to come back to London,” Niall says irritably, as if the heat of the American sun is already upon him. “And I’m tired of not seeing him on breaks.”

“We’re going on tour in like, a month,” Zayn reminds him, “and you’re going to let Harry drag you all over LA with all his weird quirky friends and all you’re going to get out of it is a sunburn. And probably like, a weird hat. I feel like Harry’s trying to force headwear onto us all of the sudden.”

“I just don’t like it when he’s so far away,” Niall says, spooning ice cream into his mouth. Zayn is struck by Niall’s honesty; he still forgets how easy it is for people like Niall and Liam to say exactly how they’re feeling when it’s so hard for him. 

“I know we’re going _on the road again_ in February,” Niall continues, waggling his eyebrows at Zayn like he always does when he makes that joke, “but you know, it just feels weird when he’s on the other side of the world and we can’t even chat because of the time difference. And he’s always asking me to visit, and he’s my best mate, so this time I said yes.”

“I’m not trying to like, make you feel bad, Naj,” Zayn says. “If you want to go to LA, it’s fine. It’s probably good for Harry to have one of us out there with him.”

Niall sighs, and runs his hand through his fringe. It sticks up straight in the air; Zayn thinks it’s probably because there’s ice cream all over Niall’s fingers.

“You could come too, Zayn,” he says, his eyes suddenly wide and hopeful. “Don’t you want Harry to buy _you_ a weird hat?”

Zayn snorts. “Think I’ll pass,” he says. “Besides, who would listen to Louis cry endlessly about CBB if I went to LA?”

Niall folds his arms like a grumpy toddler and mutters, “I wish we could all go.”

Zayn tenses up slightly; they’re edging into the Problem-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named, as Liam started calling it whenever it came up in conversation. He tries in vain to think of something to divert the subject, but then Niall turns his big blue eyes on Zayn and he knows they’re going to talk about… It.

“Do you ever think we’ll be able to take, like… trips again?”

“We take trips all the time,” Zayn says, fake-casually.

Niall gives him a look. “You know what I mean. Like go out, the five of us. Or travel together, not for work. Remember when we were on that boat, the five of us? That was sick. I want to do that again.”

Zayn wants to say, _Of course, Niall. Very soon. The five of us will go out on a boat and smoke up and drink beer and Liam will show us all how to fish and we’ll all pretend we don’t see Harry and Louis sneaking off to the cabin_. He obviously can’t say this.

“No, Niall,” he says, as gently as possible. “I don’t think that’ll be happening anytime soon.”

Niall visibly deflates, his ice-cream sticky quiff flopping back onto his forehead.

“Yeah,” he says sullenly. “You’re probably right.”

They sit in silence for a few more minutes, spooning ice cream into their mouths, celebrities yelling at each other on the television.

“Bro,” Niall says carefully after a while. “Can I ask you a question?”

Zayn hesitates, then nods. He doubts he’s going to love what Niall has to say, but he’s not in the business of denying him anything, which is clear from the fact that Niall is in his house in the first place, dripping ice cream onto the couch.

“Were you ever like… glad?” Niall says, so quietly it’s almost a whisper. “I mean, that they…”

Zayn’s heart is in his throat, and he feels simultaneously deeply guilty and also massively grateful, because he’d been so worried that he was the only one.

“Yes,” he says quickly, and Niall is visibly relieved. “Yeah, not like, I wasn’t happy obviously, I don’t like seeing them sad, but like—”

“But they used to leave us out all the time,” Niall finishes. “They were always interrupting everything, making it all about the two of them. I hated it sometimes.”

“Me too,” Zayn admits, and it’s like breathing fresh air. “It always felt like they were off in their own little world, and since it’s been over, I’ve seen Louis so much more than I used to, and he’s my best mate—”

“Same with Harry!” Niall says, his smile splitting his face. “I see him so much, and we have so much fun on stage and it’s like I finally get him to myself sometimes, you know?”

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees, and they’re beaming at each other, flushed with their commonality.

But just as soon as the good feeling finishes spreading through Zayn’s body, it' thins, and the grin is already fading from Niall’s lips. 

“That’s shite, isn’t it?” he says flatly. “We shouldn’t be happy that our best friends broke each other’s hearts.”

“No,” Zayn says, slumping back into the couch cushions and wishing they’d swallow up his horrible personality. “Even if it means we get to see them more. They got hurt and we shouldn’t be glad about it.”

Niall snuggles up to Zayn’s side and whines. “I miss us. The five of us, you know? It may have been annoying as shit to watch them obsess over each other, and I definitely saw too much of them going at it in broom cupboards but,” he winces at Zayn, “this is worse, innit?”

“Yeah,” Zayn sighs. “This is worse.”

 

**NIALL**

Niall knows Louis pretty well at this point, so he knows that all he has to do is turn up with a cup of tea and a baked good and he’s welcomed graciously into the Tomlinson bachelor pad. And oh, what a pad it is. Louis is terribly messy and his housework leaves much to be desired, but the cleaning company must have come recently because at least there aren’t crisps on the couch or pants on the floor.

“What a surprise, Niall,” Louis says joyously, nibbling on the chocolate chip muffin. “You do know you’re welcome here whenever you wish as long as you bring me treats.”

Niall rolls his eyes, but chortles all the same. “I wanted to come with Zayn next week but I’ll already be out of town.”

“Ah, yes, Zayn did mention,” Louis says. “Visiting the city of angels, eh?”

“Yeah, Harry’s gonna pick me up and show me around, you know, take me on a proper touristy visit,” Niall says. He watches intently for any change in Louis’ expression, but there isn’t any, not even a flicker as Louis primly picks muffin crumbs off his jumper.

“Sounds lovely,” Louis says. 

“Yeah, Harry knows a lot of cool places,” Niall says.

“Hmm,” is Louis’ entire answer. “Well the least I can do is beat you in FIFA before you set off for jolly old Hollywood, so let’s get to it, shall we?”

“Actually,” Niall says. “I kind of wanted to talk to you about something.”

Louis stops inhaling the muffin and squints at Niall, looking like a very suspicious hedgehog. “Yes, Niall? My darling? Sunshine of my life?”

Niall takes a deep breath and just goes for it. “I think you should take my ticket to LA.”

Louis stares at him for a second, then barks a slightly hysterical laugh. “Niall, you realize I can go to LA whenever I want, yeah? You don’t have to buy a ticket for me, I can afford it meself, thanks.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Niall says before Louis can laugh his way out of it. “I mean you should take my ticket and stay with Harry and let him show you around his favorite places in LA.”

And just like that, Louis drops the facade, and he suddenly looks very tired.

“So this is what you and Zayn were up to last week,” he says flatly. “Sitting around with your heads together, gossiping and meddling. Let me guess, Liam was on speakerphone?”

“Liam wasn’t involved,” Niall says loyally. “Although to be clear, I told him the plan and he thinks it’s a good idea.”

Louis throws the rest of the muffin in the trash, ignoring Niall’s shriek of despair, and disappears in the direction of his bedroom. He’s probably off to sulk, Niall thinks, the absolute drama queen.

“Louis,” he yells down the hallway. “Don’t be such a brat.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” is Louis’ answering shout.

Niall follows him down the hall to the bedroom, where he finds Louis sitting on the edge of his bed. He’s expecting a big fanfare, some yelling, but Louis just looks at him with empty eyes and a sad tilt to his mouth.

“I really think you should go,” Niall says. “I think it’d be good, you know, for us.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Louis snaps.

“It means that we haven’t been a real group since the two of you called it off,” Niall says, probably sharper than he should. “It’s like the two of you are in two different bands, half the time, like you don’t even see each other, and I know it was hard for both of you, but for the record, this is exactly why Liam didn’t want you two dating in the first place—”

“And how dare we not take perfect Liam Payne’s perfect advice?” Louis snarls. “I know none of you thought it was a good idea, but we didn’t exactly want this to happen.”

“I know, Lou, but it did happen,” Niall says, frustrated. “And I know it was hard for you both, but you can’t let it get in the way, we’re falling apart as a group—”

“You can’t put that on us!” Louis says shrilly, his tiny hands making fists on his bedspread. “I put my entire fucking life into our band, Niall, and so did he, we gave up everything so that we could keep doing this, so don’t you dare act like we’re ripping it apart on purpose or something!”

“That’s not what I’m saying!” Niall groans.

“Well, then get to the point!” Louis shouts.

“The point is, you two need to work out your shit,” Niall snaps, and Louis shuts up. “Breakups aren’t fucking fun, but you two work together, so figure it out. I don’t care how you do it, but fix it by February, because I can’t do another tour like the last one, where I have to micromanage where I am at all times so you don’t run into each other, including on stage. I can’t keep fucking watching Harry cry during Little Things.”

Louis’ mouth turns down at that, and Niall is worried _he’s_ going to start crying, of all things.

“You don’t get it,” he says, quieter than Niall has ever heard Louis speak. “You don’t… he doesn’t…”

“What?” Niall prompts. Louis’ eyes are mysteriously wet.

“He doesn’t say my name anymore,” Louis mumbles.

Niall squints at him. “What’re you talking about?” he says. “Of course he says your name,” but Louis is already shaking his head. 

“No. He hasn’t said it in months. Not on stage, not during interviews, even if there’s a question about me, he just dodges it.”

“Tommo,” Niall says gently. “It’s probably because he’s, you know… hurt.”

For a moment, Louis looks crushed, then his gaze hardens.

“This isn’t all me, you know,” he says, a last ditch attempt. “He’s not exactly ringing me every night asking me to talk or get better or whatever it is you want.”

“I know,” Niall says tiredly. “You’re both absolutely stubborn arseholes. Be the bigger man, you big dumb idiot.”

“Shut up,” Louis says, but it’s fonder.

“You shut up,” Niall says, and smiles slowly.

Louis sighs. “Fine,” he says. “ _Fine_. I’ll go. I’ll try to make nice. But I don’t know what he’ll do. And if it doesn’t work out, you have to leave me alone, okay? Liam and Zayn, too.”

Niall nods, and Louis grins. “All right. Now that the serious part of the evening is over, can I please trounce you in FIFA?”

“We’ll see,” Niall snorts, and Louis shoves him into the doorway as he sprints out of the room.

 

**HARRY**

Harry has been granted rare permission to actually wait in the airport for Niall’s plane to land so he can meet him at the arrival gate. He’s bouncing from foot-to-foot as he waits, barely able to contain his excitement. It hasn’t been that long since he’s seen Niall, but he can’t wait to show him all around LA and have a blast with his best mate. He’s even carrying a sign that says ‘HORAN’ just because he knows it will make Niall laugh, but when he sees who’s coming through the gate instead of Niall, heading his way and lugging a familiar carry-on, the sign flutters to the ground, forgotten.

Harry must have a look of absolute and utter shock on his face because when Louis sees him, he blanches, and says in a flat voice, “Niall didn’t tell you, did he.”

All Harry can do is shake his head mutely. Louis sighs. “That Irish bastard. Can we talk in the car? Only I’m exhausted and this is not a conversation I want to have in front of people.”

Harry nods, and turns to lead the way, throwing a glance over his shoulder to make sure Louis is following. When Louis falls in step beside him, Harry reaches out and pinches him on the arm. Louis yelps and swats at him.

“What was that, Styles?” he howls.

“You’re here,” Harry says, aware he sounds like an absolute idiot.

“Yes, I’m here,” Louis rolls his eyes. “Whadja think, I was a bloody figment of your imagination or summat?”

Louis always gets so much more Yorkshire when he’s tired, and Harry can’t help but smile and blush. “Wasn’t sure.”

Louis sticks out a leg to trip him, and Harry shoves at him with his shoulder, and it’s almost strange how normal and happy Harry feels considering he’s been totally blindsided. He makes a cheerful mental note to murder Niall at the next opportunity.

Harry guides Louis to the car with a hand on the small of his back, out of reflex more than anything else, and though Louis stiffens, he doesn’t pull away, and Harry feels oddly victorious. They’ve already been driving for a few minutes before Louis speaks.

“I’m sorry for surprising you,” he says. “Although, really, it’s Niall’s fault, because he told me he was going to tell you, but he clearly didn’t. So maybe I’m not sorry after all.”

“I just don’t really understand,” Harry says. “I don’t… I don’t know why you’re here, instead of Niall. You could’ve both come. I have enough room.”

“I’m sure he knows you have the room, Harold,” Louis says, pulling sunglasses out of his bag and putting them on to protect from the glaring sunlight that’s streaming through the windows. “I think this was more of an… intervention, if you will.”

“Intervention?” Harry asks. “For what? I mean, I go out, but not like, excessively, and I—”

“Not for drinking, Haz,” Louis says, and Harry notices he’s fiddling with his fingers like he does when he’s nervous. “They’ve just, um. They all feel, Niall and Zayn and Liam, they feel, like maybe we’re not all… operating as a unit. You know. Because you and I don’t really. Talk. Anymore.”

It hits Harry like a sack of bricks to the chest. Oh. This is a romantic intervention. He’s sure his entire face is bright red, but when he sneaks a glance at Louis, he’s just staring at his hands.

“Oh,” Harry says softly.

“Yeah,” Louis says, equally quiet.

They drive in silence for a while. Harry keeps looking over at Louis, but Louis is always looking out the window. Finally, he says, “So. Did you, um. Do you want to be here? Or did they make you come?”

Louis twists his mouth like he’s not sure how to answer. “I certainly didn’t volunteer,” he says, which actually eases a giggle out of Harry. Louis relaxes slightly, and goes on. “And yeah, Niall sort of had to talk me into it. But they’re right, you know? We haven’t been acting like a band. We didn’t really even act like a band when you and I were… you know, because we were too focused on each other. And that’s what made it so hard in the end. Maybe if we’d been a little healthier, less codependent, this would have been easier and it wouldn’t have been as devastating.”

Harry’s heart doesn’t drop into his stomach, but it does crawl there, very pitifully.

“You think we were unhealthy?” he asks, trying to keep his voice from wavering. “Was it me? Was I too—”

“Harry, stop,” Louis interjects. “I didn’t come here to drag up the past, okay? I’m just saying, we were intense. And it made our breakup intense, and it’s made everything intense. And it doesn’t have to be, like, look we’re communicating right now, and it’s fine. We never used to do that.”

Harry doesn’t realize he’s clutching the steering wheel with a death grip until it starts to hurt. He releases it and flexes his fingers. “Communicating,” he says. “Right.”

Louis sighs, loud and exasperated. “I’m not saying you didn’t try to communicate when we were together, Harry. I’m not trying to accuse you of anything, okay? What happened back then, we can’t change it. But we can try to make it better, for the band, and for this tour, and for our friends, right?”

Harry chances a look at Louis, and this time he’s looking back, all sharp angles and soft blue eyes. Something inside him crumbles, maybe it’s his resolve, which was never very good at staying intact around Louis.

“Yeah,” he says. “So we’re going to try being friends again?”

Louis snorts at that. “Were we ever friends, Harry? I think you jumped me the first day we met.”

Something stabs Harry’s heart at that, but he pushes it down. “Fine. Would you like to be my friend, for the first time ever, Louis Tomlinson?”

A look of pure, unadulterated joy comes over Louis’ face at his words, and he nods. “Yes, Harry Styles,” he says. “That sounds lovely.”

 

**LOUIS**

When they get to Harry’s beautiful house, settled neatly on a long stretch of private beach, the first thing that happens is Louis’ stomach grumbles loudly. He tries to be embarrassed about it, but it’s been about eight hours since his last meal and traveling always makes him hungry.

Harry’s adorable about it, though, just smiles nice and big, with dimples, ushers Louis into the house, plunks him down at the breakfast bar, and proceeds to make him a fry-up. Louis is slightly ashamed of the way he gobbles it up like he hasn’t eaten in days, but it just makes Harry beam at him even wider. Louis is so full and so sleepy that he actually has to be guided from the kitchen into the guest room, where Harry has already put his bag.

“This is where Niall usually stays,” Harry says, an odd touch of nervousness to his voice. “But you can pick a different room if you want—”

“This is perfect,” Louis says sleepily. “There’s a bed here.” He crawls into it and nestles into the pillows. Harry has great taste in bedspreads. “Wake me up for dinner, yeah?”

“Of course, Lou,” Harry says, his voice tinged with something so familiar and sweet. “Good night, love.”

“Mmm, night, darling,” Louis says automatically, and drifts off immediately.

He’s roused from his slumber after what feels like only minutes, and instead of opening his eyes, he reaches out, closes his fist around the closest thing to him and yanks it down into the bed. 

“Oof!” Something that sounds and feels remarkably like Harry lands right on top of him, and the more awake part of his brain is trying to tell him this is a bad idea, but the sleepier part (the part that’s winning) is telling him he’s very comfy and that he should stay this way forever.

“Ehm. Louis.”

“Mmf,” Louis answers.

Harry giggles. “Louis, wake up. It’s dinner time. You don’t want to mess up your sleeping schedule.”

“That’s exactly what I want to do,” Louis answers, still drowsy.

Harry chuckles again, and Louis feels warm breath on his lips, and he finally opens his eyes to see Harry Styles’ magnificently beautiful face staring down at him from mere inches away.

“Harry,” he says calmly. “You’re very close to me.”

“Yes,” Harry answers. “You’ve sort of, erm, got my…” He motions between them, and Louis realizes with horror that he’s clutching the front of Harry’s shirt to his chest. He lets go of it immediately, but Harry sits up slowly, massaging out the wrinkles and not breaking eye contact.

“Sorry,” Louis gulps.

Harry shrugs. “It’s fine. I know how out of it you get when you’re waking up.”

“So,” Louis yawns, stretching his arms high above his head. “What’s the plan?”

Harry says nothing, and when Louis looks at him, he realizes that Harry is staring at the thin strip of tummy he revealed when his shirt rode up.

“Harry,” he says, sharper.

Harry snaps out of it and shakes his head slightly. “What?”

“What’s the plan? For dinner?”

“Oh!” Harry blushes. “Well, when it was Niall coming, we were going to go out to dinner with some of my friends, but I understand if you don’t want to do that. We could order in, or we could go somewhere else—”

“No, we should go meet your friends!” Louis says. “Whatever you were going to do with Niall is all right by me. Give me the exact same treatment. You and I are friends now, right?”

Harry gives him a small, tight smile, and nods. “Do you need to change?”

“Yeah, give me like twenty minutes,” Louis says, hopping off the bed and bending to unzip his bag. “Just going to put on another shirt that doesn’t smell of plane.”

He thinks he can feel Harry’s eyes on his ass as he wiggles it in the air, searching through his carry-on, but when he peeks over his shoulder to check, Harry’s already out the door.

The dinner group is pretty big, and they’ve all got quirky names Louis should probably recognize, but doesn’t, and they react to his introduction (“You all know Louis, my bandmate”) with varying degrees, from polite interest to friendly excitement to outright concern and derision, which gives him a solid clue as to who knew about him and Harry back in the day. He tries his best to steer clear of these people conversationally.

Louis’ never really been good at handling other people’s anger, especially when it’s being directed at you by your ex’s friends who you just met, so he deals by ordering a very strong drink, and then another, and then another, as well as drinking the wine someone had ordered for the table. It would be proper embarrassing if Harry wasn’t matching him drink for drink, and it’s after the fifth vodka soda that he notices Harry’s knee pressing up against his underneath the table, and Harry’s giggles going right into his ear, and Harry’s face so close to his own, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. 

After dinner, the rest of the group is going out to a club, but Louis doesn’t feel like sharing Harry anymore, so he cups Harry’s cheek with one hand and whispers in his ear, “Can we call a car?” Harry nods and what feels like minutes later, he’s hugging everyone goodbye (getting warm hugs even from the people who started the dinner hating him, so there’s one battle won), getting momentarily blinded by paps right outside the restaurant, and sliding into the back of a car with Harry.

The second the door closes and the tinted windows are rolled up, Harry’s hands are all over Louis, running over his shoulders and smoothing down his chest, coming to rest on his hips. Harry’s lips are attached to the spot where his jaw meets his neck, and Louis can’t help but moan. This is _Harry_ , this is the person he loved more than anyone else in the world, the person he thought he was going to spend the rest of his life with. He tugs up Harry’s shirt to rest his hands on Harry’s lovely, broad back, and he scratches the warm skin gently with his fingernails.

Harry arches into it, breathes in his ear, “ _Louis_.”

And that’s like getting dunked into a tank of cold water, his name leaving Harry’s lips like that. He shoves Harry off of him and presses himself up against the door. Harry’s looking at him, lips red and wet, eyes bemused.

“No,” Louis gasps. “No, I did not…” He takes a deep, gulping breath. “I did not come here for that. That’s… that’s not why I’m here.”

Harry reaches for him, but Louis shies away and Harry retracts his hand quickly like he’s been burnt, tucking himself up against the other door and not saying another word the rest of the way home.

When they get back to the house, Louis heads straight for the guest bedroom, but Harry stops him with one tiny, exhausted, “ _Louis_.”

He’s so weak. He turns, sees Harry’s crumpled, drunk, I-did-something-bad face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“It’s all right, love,” Louis says, the pet name spilling out of his mouth before he can stop it. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

Harry nods and wanders off, presumably to his own master suite, and Louis falls into bed with his clothes on, immediately falling asleep.

When he wakes up the next day, it’s already almost noon, and he feels like completely hammered shit. He stumbles into the kitchen to find Harry rubbing his temples in front of a steaming mug.

“Tea?” is all Louis’ can muster, collapsing onto a bar stool beside Harry.

“You can have this one,” Harry yawns, sliding the mug over. “I’ll make myself another.”

Louis takes the mug gratefully, and sips, feeling the warmth spread through his entire body.

“You drink Yorkshire?” he asks Harry, who’s fetching another tea bag from the box in the cupboard.

Harry blushes. “I sort of developed a taste for it.”

“Because it’s the best,” Louis hums happily around the rim of the mug. “You developed good taste, Styles.”

Harry smirks at him, which appears to be too strenuous a facial expression because he immediately sinks back onto the bar stool, holding his head.

“Hey,” Louis says, rubbing Harry’s back in between his shoulder blades. Harry lets out an appreciative moan. “What do you say we cut back on all the touristy stuff we were going to do today and just stay in and watch telly and drink ginger ale?”

Harry looks at him with bleary eyes. “That sounds nice,” he says quietly.

“I’ll make you some popcorn,” Louis says.

They spend the day draped in various poses on the couch, eating dry toast and unbuttered popcorn and sipping tea and ginger ale to calm their hangovers. Harry is giggling at some American sitcom when he looks over at Louis, his smile fading.

“So,” he says, “Are we going to talk about last night?”

Louis wishes they could just go on like this, but a lack of communication is probably what landed them in this mess in the first place. Plus, he promised Niall.

“We probably should,” he says, angling his body so he’s tilted more towards Harry. “We’re not very good at being friends, are we?”

“You keep saying that,” Harry says, sounding oddly troubled. “That we aren’t friends, or that we never were, or whatever. But… you know, I always considered you my best friend. Even when we were together, like. We were together, obviously, but you were also my best friend. My favorite person to just like, sit around with. It just came along with all the other stuff, too.”

“You were my best friend, too, Hazza,” Louis says quietly. “And I think we’re good at that part. Like today was great. We just… I don’t know, we can’t seem to separate the other stuff.”

“So we can either completely ignore each other or risk falling into bed together again,” Harry says bitterly. “The rest of the lads are going to love that.”

“I don’t know what else to say,” Louis whines. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to let the boys down, I want to be able to make this work, but it hurts too much. I’m at a complete loss, here, Harry.”

From Harry’s pinched expression, Louis can tell he feels about the same. They stare at each other for a few moments before Harry sighs. “We’re out of bread and milk. Some other things, too. I think I’ll run to the store. Maybe take a little drive and, you know… think.”

A shot of fear drives through Louis’ heart. “Please come home tonight,” he begs. “Don’t like, stay out all night. Come home and sleep here?”

Harry looks stricken that Louis had even considered another possibility.

“Of course,” he says. “Of course I’m coming home tonight.” He hesitates for a moment, then leans over and kisses Louis’ forehead.

“I’ll be back in an hour or so,” he promises, then stands up and leaves the room. Louis hears the  Range Rover peel out of the driveway, and he leaps to his feet, ignoring his pounding head, and runs into his room to grab his phone. Flopping down on the bed, he hits a couple buttons on his cell phone and brings it to his ear.

“Tommo!” Liam’s cheerful voice comes through the speaker.

“Listen up, Liam,” Louis says, forgoing a greeting. “I am willing to forgive you for the part you played in this set-up—”

“I had literally nothing to do with it—”

“—if, and only if, you help me this instant.”

Liam sighs. “Whatever it is, I’ll do my best. What’s going on.”

“I’m still in love with Harry,” Louis blurts out.

There’s a long pause, and then Liam says, as if he’s missing something, “Okay.”

“Okay? _Okay?_ That’s all you have to say? How about _I’m sorry_ or _that sucks_ or _yes of course, Louis, I’ll euthanize you as humanely as possible_.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Liam sighs. “Have you ever considered that maybe he’s still in love with you, too?”

“Are you on drugs?” Louis deadpans.

“Is it that impossible to imagine?” Liam asks. “How did you two even break up, anyway, neither of you ever told me.”

“We didn’t tell anyone,” Louis says stiffly. “It was… sort of stupid, really. He wanted to take a break so I agreed because it was what he wanted and then it wasn’t a break, it was like… forever. And that was it.”

There’s a very long silence from Liam’s end

“That was it,” he finally says in the slowest, calmest voice imaginable. “That was the end of your three year relationship. That you stayed in even when I told you not to, and Paul told you not to, and the label, and management…”

“Yes,” Louis snaps. “He didn’t want me anymore, okay? That was the end of it. What was I supposed to do, camp out in the bedroom and make him change his mind?”

Louis can’t see Liam through the phone, but he can practically hear him trying to rub his temples and pinch the bridge of his nose at the same time.

“Louis,” Liam says, still sounding infinitely calm. Louis admires him so much. “With all the love and respect I have, you are such a piece of shit.”

“Well, excuse the fuck out of you—”

“ _Talk to Harry_. Just have an honest conversation with him, for once in your life. Tell him what you think happened during the breakup and see if it matches up with him. And tell him you love him, you great bloody idiot. I swear to god, the two of you are giving me an ulcer.”

And then Liam hangs up on him. Louis stares at his phone in shock. He needs new friends. He fires off a quick text: _thanks for nothing u terrible friend next time i see u i am giving u 800 wet willies_.

Immediately he gets back: _talk to harry an then tell me im a bad freind. u r mean._

Louis tosses his phone onto the bed in disgust. He has nothing to do but wait for Harry to come home, so he wanders through the house. It’s a decent size without being grossly extravagant, and it’s decorated very tastefully. Louis wishes he couldn’t imagine raising a family with Harry here, but he absolutely can visualize it perfectly. It’s the perfect size for three; he can practically see them running through the hallways, can almost here Harry shouting _Don’t run in the house, my darlings!_ The dining room table isn’t too long or formal; it’s sturdy and wooden and Louis can almost see his family sitting around it, talking about their days, Louis feeding the baby while Harry beams. Even the bedrooms are perfect, the one right beside Harry’s master bedroom the exact right size for a nursery, with a beautiful view of the ocean.

That’s where Harry finds him, an hour later, sitting on the floor. He doesn’t even hesitate before dropping down beside him, cross-legged like they’re in kindergarden.

“You haven’t furnished this one,” Louis says.

“Not yet,” Harry says, looking around the empty room. “I’m sort of… saving it for something.”

“A nursery,” Louis supplies.

Harry’s eyes light up. “Yes.”

And then Louis can’t take it anymore. “What happened to us?” he asks desperately, turning to face Harry. “I thought… I thought this was going to be our house, and that we were going to raise our kids here. I thought we were going to grow old together.”

Harry’s eyes look very wet. “I thought that, too, Lou.”

Louis rubs his face with one hand. “Well, then, what happened?”

Harry’s looking at him like his words don’t make any sense, like he’s not even speaking English. “Lou…” he say softly. “You… you left.”

Louis stares at him. It’s like there’s a big question mark in his brain where all his words and thoughts used to be.

“What?”

“You left. You packed your bags and you left. Like, the country.”

Louis gapes at him. “Because you told me to!”

Harry’s brow knits together. “When on earth did I do that?”

“The night of our fight! You said you needed space and you told me to go!”

Harry’s mouth physically drops open. He looks like a bullfrog.

“I meant, like, the _room, Louis!”_ Harry practically yells. “Or like _the house_ if you really wanted to cool off! I didn’t mean leave the _country!_ I didn’t mean leave _me!_ ”

For one of the first times in his life, Louis is literally speechless.

“So that night,” he says finally. “The fight we had… it wasn’t—”

“It was a fight,” Harry says. “A fight we’d had before and I’m sure we’ll have again, but nothing that made me stop loving you. God, Louis, nothing could do that.”

“Have we been broken up for a year for no reason?” Louis asks in a dangerously low voice.

Harry has the utter nerve to laugh, and Louis just has to punish him for that, so he steals it right out of his throat, one hand crushed in the curls at the back of Harry’s neck, their lips pressed together. The laugh turns into a moan when Louis opens his mouth, and the kiss turns dirty and wet, their tongues sliding together for the first time in months, eliciting groans from both of them.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Harry mumbles against Louis’ lips. “Don’t ever leave me again, ever. If I want space, go into the living room, or something.”

“I love you,” Louis breathes. “I love you, I love you—”

Harry swallows the words.

They don’t have the coordination or patience to do much but grind against each other and get off right there on the someday-nursery floor, but it’s been so long that it barely takes any time at all, and then they’re laying, panting on the hardwood, no part of them not touching.

“We are really quite stupid,” Harry muses, tracing shapes onto Louis’ back.

“Quite,” Louis answers, tucking his face into Harry’s neck. “It’s a good thing we have such nosy, annoying, meddling friends.”

Harry grins at him, dimples in full force.

“I’ll send Niall a fruit basket.”

Louis drags his lips up Harry's neck and whispers, "Can we promise to talk to each other more this time around, Haz? We messed up because we didn't communicate enough, and we can't let it happen again."

Harry nods and nuzzles his nose into Louis' hair. "I promise."

Louis smiles. "Me too."

They eventually drag themselves up off the floor and topple into the master suite, where Harry fucks Louis for real in the giant bed and whispers  _I love you so much_ in his ear just before he comes. They’re about to drop off to sleep, Louis curled protectively around Harry, when he remembers. He grabs Harry’s phone from the bedside table and types out a text to Liam.

  _u were right. i am a piece of shit. but harry loves me anyway._

 It’s a little too sentimental, so he adds:

  _can’t wait 4 u all to see otra sex tour 2015_

He immediately gets a text back, which says _ur gross_ , but then _happy for u bro_.

Louis smiles, buries his face into Harry’s back, and falls asleep.

 

**LIAM  
  
** He regrets everything. Honestly, everything. He thought he was doing a good deed by helping to get Louis and Harry back together, but really, he was just guaranteeing that he would never sleep again. Or enjoy food. Or be able to sit on any chair in the dressing room. Or literally touch anything on the tour bus. It’s only April, and his eyeballs have seen so much sex, it’s like it’s 2011 again and Harry and Louis don’t know how to lock a door.

“Again?” Niall asks when Liam storms into the hotel room Zayn and Niall are sharing.

“They’re doing it on purpose,” Liam says with utter confidence. “There’s no other way. No person should see this many bare arses in their lifetime.”

“Maybe you’re just lucky,” Niall suggests, grinning.

“If you stop giving them attention, they’ll stop doing it,” Zayn says sagely, perched on his bed.

“Do you really believe that?” Liam asks.

Zayn shakes his head.

Liam’s phone buzzes with a text from Harry. _Sorry, mate! We sanitized the table. Love you!_

One comes in from Louis as well. _Hope u have rly realistic dreams about my knob ha ha_

“I hate them,” Liam says out loud. “Why did we get them back together again?”

“Because we’re awesome friends,” Niall says.

“And this is better,” Zayn says firmly. “Remember six months ago? I’d rather see Harry and Louis’ arses every day for the rest of my life than see them that miserable ever again.”

There’s a pause, then Niall says, “That’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard you say not in an interview. I’m telling them you said that.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I’m texting them right now.”

“Niall!”

There’s a scuffle over Niall’s phone that ends up with Liam, Zayn, and Niall all piled on one bed, limbs completely tangled. They’re giggling, trying to unknot themselves, when the door swings open and Louis catapults himself right on top of the three of them, sending Niall’s elbow careening into Zayn’s ribs. Harry drapes himself dramatically on top of the pile, and even though Zayn has had the wind knocked out of him, Niall is being crushed by Louis’ bum, and Liam might actually be choking to death because Harry’s hair is in his mouth, when Zayn says weakly, “See? Isn’t this better?” both Niall and Liam answer, at the same time, “Much better.”


End file.
